


your own green language

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Florists, M/M, background samothes/samot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27683240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Florist Samol spots a new plant stall at the local market, but the stall’s owner is even more intriguing than his custom terrariums.
Relationships: Fero Feritas/Samol
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	your own green language

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with my new book on the Victorian language of flowers for this one - see the end notes for the flower meanings.

“These are beautiful,” said Samot.

Samol looked up from where he was tying a length of twine around the bunch of flowers Samot had selected - Pansies, Honeysuckle, and the tiniest sprig of Sweet Pea flowers. Samot was holding up a small terrarium that was growing in a twisting vintage bottle.

Samol nodded. “They are. There’s a young man around here who makes them.” He paused. “If you want one, there’s a waiting list.”

“Even for your beloved son?” asked Samot with a grin.

“Even if you were my beloved grandson,” said Samol, “waiting list’s a sight too long to be doing favours that I don’t need to.”

“Alright, alright,” said Samot, waving a hand. He lifted up the terrarium again, looking into the miniature world of lush foliage. He made a sound of surprise. “Oh, there’s- I wasn’t expecting there to be something else in here. There’s a little- it looks like a picnic.”

Samol hummed. “There’s different ones. The picnic one’s a special order.”

“I suppose that explains the long waiting list,” said Samot. He carefully set down the terrarium, stepping closer to the front counter. He tapped his fingers on the glass countertop a few times. “And why you let something that you didn’t make yourself cross the threshold.”

“Plenty of things I didn’t make in here,” said Samol, wrapping the bouquet.

“Not to do with plants,” said Samot.

Samol shrugged. “I just thought they made a nice addition to the place.”

“They do, they do,” said Samot. He paused. “I suppose if I can’t have one now you’ll have to put me on the waiting list.”

Samol laughed. “I’ll tell the young man who makes them that you have an urgent need.”

He brushed down the counter after Samot left, righting the bits and pieces that had become ruffled as Samot had searched for the perfect bouquet for Samothes. He paused at the small display of terrariums, all waiting for collection - a broad blue bottle with a tangle of thin vines that almost obscured the tiny model ship within, a tall vase with a pink base and a delicate fern inside that gave shade to a tiny family picnic, a large mason jar with a carpet of moss leading to a tiny ficus, it’s glossy leaves shining through the glass and almost obscuring the little figure on the miniature swing hanging from one of the ficus’ branches. It truly was beautiful work.

He’d first spotted them at the local market. Being the only game in town when it came to floristry was good for business, yes, but it meant he was always on the hunt for new suppliers. You never knew when someone’s delivery might get held up, setting back your orders for days if you didn’t have anything to replace it with. He’d done his usual rounds, chatting with the stallholders, poking around the fruits and vegetables to pick up a few things, before he’d spotted Fero’s stall.

It was a little one, the trestle table where the terrariums were set up almost hidden by the two enormous ferns he’d put at the front of his stall. Samol lifted a few of the fronds, peering at the crowd of vintage bottles before him, each one containing a different array of plants, all practically glowing with life.

“Hi, hello!” said a voice from behind another fern, this one sent up on the opposite side of the table.

“Hello,” said Samol to the fern.

A tangle of brown curls bobbed over the top of the fern. “Just give me a-” there was a rustling sound as the man pushed aside some of the fern to step around, leaves clinging to his hair. “Hi!”

“Hello,” said Samol again, this time with restrained laughter, “You’ve got some beautiful work here.”

The man grinned. “Thanks! They’re fun enough to do that they don’t totally feel like work, but people seem to like buying them anyway.”

“And the ferns,” said Samol, “Are they for sale?”

The man made a face. “No, they were Lem’s stupid idea for  _ decoration _ .”

“They are eye-catching,” said Samol.

“Yeah, but so are the things  _ I _ made,” said the man.

“That is true,” said Samol, picking up the closest one, an intricately-carved glass vase with a cork stopper in it.

Something glinted within, catching Samol’s eye. As he looked closer into the tiny thicket he could see two miniatures, their swords glinting in the gloom. Through the glass, the effect was like seeing a shot from a period movie from far away, the shifting shadows in the terrarium hinting at movement.

“Huh,” said Samol, peering closer.

The man laughed. “You’ve got a good eye! I’ve had some people buy them and not spot them until after they get them home. It’s pretty funny that they’re so surprised.”

Samol set the terrarium he was holding down, picking up another. The miniatures in this one, a large green-tinted bottle were a little more obvious - a tiny postman delivering an ever tinier little to a little mailbox, it’s little flag raised. He looked up, meeting the man’s eye before the man quickly looked away, his cheeks a little flushed.

“You sell these anywhere in town?” asked Samol.

“Just here,” said the man with a shrug, “I mean, they’re not enough for a whole store.”

Samol hummed. “Might be that I can offer you a compromise on that. I got a little store myself, and I think these would make a fine addition.”

The man blinked. “Are you serious? You want to, what, buy all of them?”

“Nothing like that,” said Samol, “You’d give them to me and I’d put them in my store, and people could buy them there any time, not just when it's market day.”

The man hummed. “What kind of store is it?”

“A florist,” said Samol.

“A-  _ oh _ , yeah, I know the place.”

“I don’t remember seeing you in there,” said Samol.

“Because I’ve never been,” said the man, “I grow my own flowers and stuff.” He paused. “But, uh. It’s nice looking, from the outside.”

“Thank you,” said Samol, to give him a way out. “Now, I suppose as we’re going into business of a kind together we ought to know one another’s names.”

“Fero,” said the man, “and I should probably give you my number too, right? In case anything happens with the terrariums.”

Now, Samol had been out of the game for a few years, but even he wasn’t  _ so _ out that he didn’t recognise Fero’s offer for what it was. Still, on a purely practical level, Fero was right. Samol would just have to keep an eye on himself that’s all. No need to lead the young man on, even if he did have a charming grin and a green thumb.

“I suppose that makes good sense,” said Samol.

They worked out a rough time for Fero to drop by with the terrariums the next day. Samol spent the afternoon when he got back to the store shifting around the baskets of flowers, making room for a new display and tried to focus on the logistics of what he was doing instead of the memory of Fero’s bright grin as they’d exchanged numbers.

Fero was wearing that same grin as he dropped off a box full of terrariums the next day. It looked like there were even more of them that he’d had at the market.

“I didn’t have anything to do last night, and I had some stuff lying around,” said Fero, with a shrug, “I thought I may as well throw together a few more.”

“They don’t look thrown together,” said Samol, looking them over, “It’s beautiful work.”

Fero’s cheeks flushed pink and Samol tried not to feel too pleased, or too  _ anything else, _ at the sight of it.

“I mean,  _ I’ve  _ always thought so,” said Fero, turning to start taking the terrariums out of the box, arranging them on the small table Samol had cleared for him, “But you- people don’t normally tell me that so fast.”

Samol leant a hip on the counter, watching the quick and careful motion of his hands. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah, well, you’re like, a special case,” said Fero, “I mean, you believed right away that I’d made them too, so.”

“Who do people usually think made them?”

“Lem, usually,” said Fero.

Samol thought back on Fero’s expression the day before. “And Lem is…”

“My- we’re friends,” said Fero, “We used to date, sort of. For like a couple minutes. It’s way easier to live together now that we’re back to being friends, even though sometimes- and people think- whatever.” The back of his neck flushed. “It’s, uh- it’s less complicated than it used to be?”

Samol laughed, and some of the tension left Fero’s shoulders. “Well I believe you made them. And I’ve had a few complications myself, so I don’t mind about all that.”

Fero’s grin took on a sharp edge. “Oh  _ really _ ?”

“Might be that’s a story for another day,” said Samol, “Once we know each other a little better.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Fero cheerfully.

He didn’t press the issue as they carefully set out the rest of the terrariums, although he did stand a little closer than Samol perhaps should have let him. It was hard to mind, and harder still not to lean towards him as he grinned up as Samol, his expression as bright as the sun.

Samol dreamt of flowers that night - Maidenhair ferns and Foxglove towering above him as he made his way through the lush greenery, searching for something through the leaves with the deep interest of a dream but without urgency.

The feeling stayed with him even when he woke. It felt easier to get out of bed than it had in months, but he put it down to the warmer weather. He was a sight too old to be so affected by something as simple as a dream.

“You’re in a good mood,” said Samothes.

“Well, it’s been a good day,” said Samol.

He didn’t feel inclined to elaborate - his sons loved him, but they could also be dreadful busibodies when given half the chance. He’d never been so happy that it was their anniversary that weekend, which meant Samothes was far too distracted by carefully choosing flowers for his bouquet to pry further.

Samothes fiddled with the stems of the flowers he’d picked out - Dahlia, Buttercup, Aster, a few stems of Wheat - a faint smile on his lips. He blinked as his gaze turned towards the display of terrariums.

“Oh, that’s- Samot was telling me about these,” said Samothes.

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” said Samol, “There’s a waiting list.”

“Yes, he said that,” said Samothes. He glanced at Samol. “Not like you to have someone else’s work in here.”

Samol hummed. “Maybe so, but I think it makes a fine addition.”

“It does.” Samothes paused. “And there’s no way I… Samot quite liked them, and I thought perhaps…”

Samol huffed a laugh. “I’ll ask Fero. I suppose it is a special case, being your anniversary.”

“Thank you,” said Samothes. He frowned. “Who’s Fero?”

“The young man who makes them,” said Samol, finishing the bow around the bouquet and holding it out to Samothes. “Tell Samot I’ll see what I can do, but don’t go making promises that can’t be kept.”

Samothes nodded, his expression a little crooked.

If it hadn’t been his children, Samol probably would have just left it until Fero came in with another lot. That’s what he told himself, at least, avoiding the thought that he was using this as an excuse to talk to Fero a little sooner, to get him to stop by the next day instead of the next week.

“I guess I could make something up,” said Fero, “You said it’s for their anniversary?”

Samol hummed. “A while back they were going through some… troubles, and they got divorced, and then a few years ago they fell back in touch and decided to keep the same anniversary. Makes things easier I suppose, even if it does make it a big deal of a day.”

“I guess I get that,” said Fero, “And, y’know, since it’s you… I guess I don’t mind doing it, as a favour.”

“Well I do appreciate that,” said Samol, “I suppose I’ll have to owe you one.”

“Yeah, you will,” said Fero, and Samol could hear his grin coming down the line.

He smiled down at the phone after they’d hung up, feeling foolish and excited and much younger than he was in years. His thoughts drifted back to Fero as he tidied up after dinner, imagining how Fero’s sharp grin and bright eyes must have looked on the other end of their call. Samol tried not to look forward to Fero coming in, and was equally unsuccessful.

He dreamt of flowers again that night, Ferns and Foxglove and Poppies leading him to a patchwork field of Heather and Roses. The air smelled sweet, and Samol took a deep breath in and let it out, opening his eyes to look up at his ceiling. The dream faded away slowly, wisps of it clinging to his thoughts through the day, mixing with memories of Fero’s bright grin every time his gaze would drift towards the terrariums.

Fero arrived just as Samol was closing up, a small box cradled in his arms.

“I appreciate you doing this,” said Samol, as he set the box down on the counter, “I know my sons will be delighted with it.”

“There’s, uh-” Fero shifted his feet a little, sliding closer and then further away from the counter. “There’s one for you, too. If you want it.”

Samol carefully opened the box. Inside was a bottle made of curling, blue-tinted glass and a plain-looking and practical jar. He peered inside the blue bottle first - inside, a miniature blond figure held hands with a taller brunette, their tiny faces tilted towards each other. In the bonsai tree behind them, just visible, was a smaller blond figure.

“I thought- the picture you sent through had their kid in them,” said Fero, “So I thought he should probably be there too.”

Samol smiled. “So he should. They’ll like that, even if it does embarrass Maelgwyn to hear it.”

Fero laughed, his cheeks turning pink as Samol lifted the larger, clear jar up to peer inside. He blinked, something in his chest tightening and then loosening, curling outwards. Inside the jar, surrounded by lush Maidenhair ferns and moss, was the miniature figure of himself. It was just the impression of him, a wide-brimmed hat and long limbs bent as the tiny figure tended to the greenery, but it felt as though he were looking at a photograph, or, no. It was like looking at a dream, the kind that had made him want to open up a floristry shop in the first place.

“I-” Fero swallowed. “I hope you like it.”

“It’s a truly lovely gift,” said Samol, “And a surprise. Don’t get many of those, at my age.”

“You’re not that old,” said Fero, “I bet I could still surprise you every day.”

Samol looked up at Fero. Fero met his gaze, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. It made Samol think of the bright spots of pink Camellias in his garden, drawing his fingertips towards Fero almost without meaning to.

Unlike the bright, cool petals of the Camellias, Fero’s skin was hot to the touch. Samol felt the puff of air as Fero let out a shaky breath, his hands twitching on the counter.

“I bet you could,” said Samol, “I bet you could.”

Fero twitched, leaning closer, leaning over the counter until Samol met him half-way. His lips, like the petals of the Camellias, like the leaves of the Maidenhair ferns, were soft. He felt Fero’s hand come up, resting lightly on Samol’s good shoulder, curling and uncurling in the fabric of his shirt.

Samol parted, reluctantly, for breath. Fero stayed close, his hand still on Samol’s shoulder.

“I hope- was that okay, that I did that?” said Fero.

“It was another surprise,” said Samol, “But another good one.”

Fero laughed, the sound as bright as ever and tinged with delight. “Told you so! That’s two surprises in one day!”

Samol leaned forwards again, the sight of Fero’s grin drawing him closer. “I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

**Author's Note:**

> Samot's bouquet for Samothes:  
> Pansies: you occupy my thoughts.  
> Honeysuckle: devotion, affection  
> Sweet Pea: "thank you for the lovely time"
> 
> Samothes' bouquet for Samot:  
> Dahlia: eternal love, commitment  
> Buttercup: "you are radiant with charm"  
> Aster: daintiness (when paired with Buttercup in a bouquet, its meaning is more to compliment someone's charming demeanor)  
> Wheat: riches, abundance
> 
> Samol's dreams:  
> Poppies: eternal sleep  
> Ferns: magic, secrecy  
> Foxglove: riddles, secrets  
> Heather: luck  
> Roses: love  
> Camellias: "longing for you"  
> To give someone a bouquet of ferns and poppies would indicate that you saw them in a dream.  
> When Foxglove and Ferns are combined in the same bouquet, this can mean "secret love". Maidenhair ferns were also associated with Venus, the Roman goddess of love and beauty.  
> The combination of heather and roses is used to symbolise the beginning of a new relationship.
> 
> The book I used as a flower language reference was ['Floriography' by Jessica Roux](https://www.jessica-roux.com/floriography-an-illustrated-guide-to-the-victorian-language-of-flowers), a very beautiful book.
> 
> \----
> 
> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
